


Crumbs of Thought and Bits of Smiles

by GwynDuLac



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms
Genre: Camelot, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Ficlets, Just a bit of fun, M/M, Multi, it's dysfunctional but it exists, tags will be updated as i post more
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2018-08-08 18:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7769203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwynDuLac/pseuds/GwynDuLac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is just a place to put Arthurian ficlets as I write them. </p>
<p>Ch. 1: "Brothers in Arms" (Lancelot and Bedwyr)<br/>Ch. 2: "Names" (Arthur/Guinevere/Lancelot)<br/>Ch. 3: "Sparring" (Arthur/Guinevere/Lancelot)<br/>Ch. 4: "Promises" (Arthur/Guinevere/Lancelot)<br/>Ch. 5: "Same Graveyard" (Lancelot and Gawain or Lancelot/Gawain depending on how you read it)<br/>Ch. 6: "Sometimes the World Ends" (Lancelot and Galahad)</p>
<p>Title borrowed from Shel Silverstein's wonderful book "Everything On It".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brothers in Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy the ficlets, and come say 'hi' on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gwyndulac) (I'm GwynDuLac there too).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot and Bedwyr

We were there when it began, you and I. There, on that battlefield. We knelt in the mud and offered our swords and our lives to a hopeless cause, a hopeless war – to a boy meant to be king. The sky was overcast and his eyes were very blue and we knelt side by side, you and I. Others came later – Guinevere, the Orkney boys, Tristan and his madness – but we were there at the beginning. We were there when a boy took up the sword of the fallen king; we were there when he should have died, again and again, but the fates were kind; we were there when it began, kneeling in the mud, our swords and our hearts in our hands. And we are here at the end, kneeling just the same, still brothers-in-arms, still shoulder-to-shoulder as the world crumbles around us, you and I.


	2. Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot's POV -- musing on the infamous "affair"

What hurt most was the things they called him. In many ways, that was the greatest injustice of our time. My friend was many things: proud, ambitious, too kind for his own good. He was never stupid or blind or a cuckold, no matter what they say and write. He was our savior, our light in the dark, our only defense against the encroaching barbarianism and nearing defeat. But what he will be remembered for are the stories the bards tell of a king too blind or too stupid (or, at best, too lovestruck) to see that his beloved queen was having an affair with his dearest friend. That and all that goes with it will be Arthur’s legacy. And what really bites is that it isn’t true.

He knew before we did, I think, that we were in love with each other. He knew the lust I felt when I looked at Guinevere, for he felt it too (all men did, I think). And he knew the love I bore him, for he bore me the same and more. The love of a brother-in-arms, and something beyond that as well, something far more tender, something far more elicit. He allowed it, the ‘betrayal’ wrought by Guinevere and me. He enabled it (which makes it less betrayal, I think, and more acceptance). Hell, at the end he was an active part of it, and there was nothing more glorious than having them both at the same time.

We paid for it, of course. His reputation was all but destroyed, his pride so deeply wounded I’m not sure it ever recovered. Guinevere was sent away to prison in a nunnery, a veritable death sentence for a woman with her spirit. And I, I paid for it with a public flogging that would have killed a lesser man, and an even more painful exile that took me away from my king’s side when he needed me most. But what hurt the most – far, far more than whipping or humiliation or guilt – was walking the halls of Camelot and hearing the names they called him.


	3. Sparring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guinevere's POV

Watching them fight is a lot like watching them have sex, though if possible it is even more beautiful. (Not that I would ever tell anyone that, of course. Everyone loves to watch the King and his Champion spar, but it’s no one’s business but mine what they do in private). On days like this one, when the sky is a cloudless azure and the fresh spring glitters in the air, they look like gods, gliding and spinning back and forth across the arena, swords flashing in the bright sun. They are shirtless today, for the weather is warm and there is only myself to admire them – and God knows I’ve seen more. Still, I could happily sit here all day and watch them dance like this. Or, on second thought, perhaps I will take them back to our rooms and enjoy them there. It’s a few hours yet until supper.


	4. Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot has made and broken many promises, but he's always kept the most important one...

I’ve lost count of the promises that I’ve broken. Promises made to both of you - to love, to protect, to be loyal. I haven’t kept a single one of those promises successfully, no matter how sincerely they were made. I betrayed you with each other, and in the end I couldn’t keep either of you safe. But I can make one promise that I will never break: _I loved you both._


	5. Same Graveyard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the writing prompt "Different time, different empire, same graveyard" that I found floating around Pinterest. 
> 
> I have intentionally left it unclear as to whom the narrator is. Enjoy : )

_ Different time. Different empire. Same graveyard.  _

It had been our meeting place for centuries, since long before the abbey had been built. Here, in the shadow of what was now called Glastonbury Tor, where we had buried our King and friend. It aches less, after all this time, but not when we are  _ here _ . Here it was as painful and fresh as it had been on that rainy, bloody day. 

“Lancelot.” 

“Gawain.” 

We still used our real names with each other. I couldn’t even have told you what modern name he was going by just now. 

“It’s good to see you.” 

We never met under good circumstances anymore; it was too hard, too painful, to be around each other for long - but there was a comfort in being near each other again, at least for a few moments. It settled something in my soul, like the universe was re-aligning.

I managed a little smile in response as I returned to our purpose for being here: “Well, let’s save the world again, shall we?”


	6. Sometimes the World Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dialogue for this came to me randomly a few months ago and I finally decided just to suck it up and write a little ficlet with it. For some reason I was in the mood to write about Lancelot and Galahad, so here you go. *shrug*

“It feels like the world is ending,” said Galahad softly, glancing back over his shoulder to where smoke rose against the night time sky.  Camelot was burning.

“It does that, sometimes,” replied his father, speaking from experience.  He mounted his horse, resolutely not looking back.

“So...what do we do?” The words came out small; a scared little boy asking a parent for comfort. Except Galahad had not been a scared little boy in years, and even when he was it had not been his father that he had gone to for comfort.

Lancelot cast his response over his shoulder, already riding away. “For now, we survive, and make sure that the King doesn’t get himself killed doing something stupid and heroic.”

Galahad stared after his father for a moment, then hurried to catch up. When he drew level with the other man, he asked, “And then?” Because there had to be something else. There had to be.

Lancelot glanced down, then finally turned to look at his son. “Then we build it up again.”


End file.
